


It's Me

by Avenging_is_My_Day_Job



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Dogs, EVERYONE LOVES EACH OTHER, Gen, Magical Accidents, Protective Steve Rogers, Team Fluff, Team as Family, The man never ceases to amaze him, Thor is awesome, Thor saves the day, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony thinks he does, at least, fight me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 14:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15798030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avenging_is_My_Day_Job/pseuds/Avenging_is_My_Day_Job
Summary: Some time after midnight, however, he woke suddenly and on edge. Hackles raised and ears pricked forward, he listened intently. He scanned the room for the source of the change in atmosphere, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no one in the room - he looked through the windows - and no one outside so what was going on...?Moments after he'd woken up, noise exploded over his head and light flashed over the tower. The floor vibrated and the windows rattled, and Tony's ears flattened on his head, trying to block out the noise. All at once, it stopped, cutting out so suddenly and abruptly that he was left wondering if it had all been a vivid hallucination.___The one where nothing makes sense.





	It's Me

Tony was stuck between disbelief that such a thing was even _possible_ , and resigning himself to the fact that not only was it very much possible, but it had happened. And it had happened to him.

His current predicament wasn't so much that he had been turned into an _animal_ , of course that was a large part of the problem, but that he found himself wandering aimlessly for an indeterminate amount of time. As much as he wanted to give in to the panic lurking about, the logical and _human_ side of his brain was pressing him to take this one step at a time. The situation could only get worse from here, and panicking would do no good. 

Step one: Figure out where the fuck you are.

It shouldn't be as hard as it was. 

Street signs and storefronts were no help. The letters and numbers wouldn't process, no matter how familiar the shapes were or how far back in his mind he grasped to try and read them. He tried, he _tried_ , because he refused to allow the limited mental processing power of a dog's brain reduce him, Tony fucking _Stark_ , from a genius to a mangy scavenger!

Light flashed and a deafening crash echoed across the sky, and Tony reeled around and stumbled over his own feet trying to get away. 

Okay, _stop it_! Undignified? Maybe a little. But he was a four legged bundle of nerves and the crappy weather was just the cherry on top of the shit pile that was his life.

He found himself cowering in an alley, wedged between overflowing garbage and a pile of soggy cardboard boxes. He ventured back out onto the sidewalk, scanning the landscape for anything familiar while trying to ignore the rumbling thunder in the distance. He flinched with the next lightning strike, but it was further away, and it wasn't so bad now that he was expecting it. His ears still ached, but it was dull enough to tune out while he worked.

Definitely in New York. Good. 

The world looked so different that close to the ground, but he recognized a few buildings and gave him a narrow sense of his location. 

"Move, stupid mutt!" 

Someone shoved past him, nearly knocking him over in their rush to get to the crosswalk at the end of the sidewalk. Tony's profane retort came out as a low growl in his throat. Great.

He started walking, tentatively at first because these paws were a bitch to get used to, and trekked down the sidewalk and around the corner, keeping his head and ears low. Fat little raindrops were starting to hit the pavement, and then, he felt them start to splat on his nose and back before the bottom of the sky finally fell out.

_Great_.

He was exhausted. He'd been wandering for, well, possibly days, and every muscle and bone ached from being poked and prodded by his captors. He didn't even remember them! How this happened, or when it happened! He slowed, veering out of the crowd of commuters and towards another narrow alley to rest. He was tired, irritated and... he was _scared_.

That might very well be the only time in his life he would ever admit it, but he was terrified. 

Nothing looked the same, nothing sounded the same, nothing _smelled_ the same. He could hear thunder miles away, and smell the diesel exhaust from the penske truck idling six blocks down the street. The rain fudged all of his newly amplified senses, sticking ungodly scents to his fur and making sounds echo from places he never paid attention to as a human person minding his day.

He looked into the crowd, watching cars roll through traffic and people trudge through puddles, holding umbrellas over their heads and mindlessly ignoring the people around them. 

At least the alley shielded him from a large portion of the wind driven rain shower. 

He was too busy counting umbrellas and listening to stuffy passersby yell into their phones to notice that a pair of footsteps had stopped only feet away from where he sat. _At first_. When the rain lulled and a strong breeze carried through the alley, Tony was suddenly downwind, and he could _smell_ the person before he saw them. 

He froze, haunches raised, and slowly got to his feet.

"Hey buddy... it's okay, it's okay..."

_You've got to be shitting me..._

There was no way in hell his luck was _this_ good. Not after the last several days. Or had it been weeks?

Suddenly there was a hand in his face and he couldn't help but let out a soft warning growl, satisfied with how the hand retreated slowly. He finally turned to look, to confirm his suspicion, and of _course_ it was none other than Steve Rogers standing there.

He looked like he'd been out for a run when he got caught in the rain, which meant it was morning at least. Hard to tell when the sky was nothing but endless grey coupled nicely with some particularly hazy smog. 

Good, this is good.

Steve got a little closer, once he realized that Tony had relaxed somewhat, and reached out again. "You lost?"

Tony moved his head back, indignant that he once again had a hand shoved in his face without warning. This time Steve wasn't trying to touch his face, or whatever he'd tried to do before, but touched his throat. Right, looking for a tag or a collar. 

"You're not feral," Steve mused out loud, "You look like you've been out here for a while though. Want to go someplace dry?"

_Yes! Take me home!_

Steve grinned. "Okay, okay. I don't think anyone will mind..." He trailed off, then frowned. Shaking his head, he stood up again and motioned for Tony to follow, which he happily did so. He stayed close to the super soldier's leg, avoiding the paths of other people and trying to keep from loosing his only way back to the tower.

* * *

"What the _fuck_ is that?"

Tony realized that he must have looked ridiculous. A sopping wet dog, covered in dirt and grime from spending days on the streets, and he knew he probably stunk to high heaven too. But come on, Barton. 

_You can't be that ignorant!_

"Sounds like he doesn't appreciate that," Steve shrugged, giving Clint a sort of ' _oh well, what can you do_ type of look. 

_Damn right_.

"Tony is going to kill you."

"Tony isn't here," Steve snapped back, and Clint had the decency to realize that it was probably not the best argument. "It's pouring outside, I wasn't going to leave him out there to fend for himself. I'm going to get him cleaned up and schedule an appointment at the vet to see if he's chipped."

"You want to keep him?"

"If no one's looking for him, he'll just end up in a shelter. I know what happens to adult dogs that don't get adopted, Clint."

_I didn't even think about that. Shit._ That came out as a whine, and not anything else he had heard come from his own mouth yet.

"We're not going to let that happen," Steve patted his head, and started walking down the hallway. Tony stayed put, not entirely sure what was going on, but still content to do what he wanted in his own home.

"Come on," Steve prompted, "You're not sitting around here that filthy."

Oh. Oh _hell no_.

He was on his feet in a split second, awkwardly tripping over his legs trying to back away. Clint laughed, but got up to help Steve wrangle him.

The archer caught up to him and held on to the scruff of his neck, but Tony was big enough to throw his balance off if he tried hard enough. Before he could pull Barton off his feet and send him tumbling onto the floor, Steve scooped him up, wriggling helplessly, and carried him down the hallway into the bathroom.

"Can you go pick some things up for him?" Steve looked over his shoulder at Clint, who was standing in the doorway. Tony was deposited into the shower, and the only way out was blocked by the brick wall that happened to moonlight as Captain America. 

"I got you," Clint replied, closing the door in order to further obstruct Tony's fragile escape plan.

Steve pulled the shower hose down and turned the water on, testing the temperature on his own skin before wetting down Tony's fur. The warm water was definitely an improvement from the cold rain outside, and he hadn't realized he had been shivering until his body finally stilled. 

"Better, right?"

_Don't be so smug, Rogers._

Tony hung his head, watching mud and dirty water get washed down the drain. The colour of the fur on his front paws brightened a little, and Steve continued to comb his fingers through his fur to loosen up patches of matted hair and dried up gunk.

By the time he was done, the shower was a complete mess, but Tony _felt_ clean. Once the water shut off, he instinctively shook the excess out of his fur, drenching Steve and distracting him long enough to give Tony a window out of the accursed glass cubicle.

"Be still!" Steve huffed, wiping his face off with a hand towel. He opened the cabinet and retrieved a dry bath towel from a high shelf and proceeded to _attempt_ soaking up the remaining water clinging to Tony's fur. 

Too much, too much. 

Tony finally escaped his grasp and went to the bathroom door and started pawing at it.

"Don't make a mess, please," Steve pleaded, as if that _ever_ worked with him. As soon as the door was opened wide enough, Tony bolted out and ran down the hallway, trailing damp pawprints behind him and an exasperated Steve. 

He ran out into the common room just in time to see Clint getting off the elevator with bags on his arms.

"Hey dude," the archer greeted, "You certainly smell better. And you don't look like roadkill anymore."

Smell was debatable. Without animal friendly soap, some of those nasty street scents were still lingering faintly. Clearly they couldn't tell, or it wasn't that bad for them. Whatever. He could smell food in one of those bags. Fuck, he was hungry. He found half a sandwhich in the garbage yesterday, but that was about the most he'd eaten since he'd been on his own.

"I only got the basics," Clint said, holding the bag out of reach. Tony reared up and tried to pull the bag down, but was rewarded by having Clint pry his mouth off the bag before placing it out of reach in the center of the kitchen island. 

Okay, no food yet. He could still try and tell them that he was himself! That Steve didn't pick up the first random stray that dared look downtrodden in his presence.

He trotted off to the lounge area, trying to find _something_ that could help. Something that belonged to him, maybe? No, that wouldn't work. He wasn't quite sure that he had the dexterity to write with his mouth, but it wasn't out of the question. A quick glance around the room had him cursing himself for making the tower almost entirely paperless. There were no memo pads or pens to be found. He could use Scrabble letters...

That was stupid.

"We gotta give him a name," he heard Clint say, after a while. The pair seemed content to watch him pace around the room, anxiously examining the furniture and aimlessly searching for gods know what.

_My name is Tony! You know me! Come on! You know who I am!_

"Settle down!" _Damn you, Steve Rogers_.

Goddamit, Jarvis couldn't even help him! Jarvis didn't even know!

Giving up his search, Tony padded over to the sofa and hopped up onto the cushions. Clint protested and tried to move him. He didn't care about the long term repercussions of a wet dog being on his leather sofa, he just wanted to lay down on something soft that wasn't a pile of spare blankets folded up on the floor.

Tony gave a soft warning growl, effectively deterring the archer for the time being.

"I'm going to see if I can get an appointment for him somewhere," Steve announced, with a sigh. "Can you watch him for a while?"

_I'm a grown man, I don't need babysitting._

"He's vocal," Steve said, starting to leave.

Clint shrugged and took the chair perpendicular to the sofa. "Huskies usually are. I can't believe you just found him out there. Dogs like this usually aren't homeless."

Steve disappeared down the hallway without a reply, leaving Tony to brood while Clint stared at him expectantly.

In all the excitement, Tony had lost track of the storm, but a crack of thunder startled him enough to sit up and stare out the windows, ears forward facing and alert. At the same time another shook the tower, the elevator opened. The high pitched _ping_ assaulted his ears and he spun around, baring his teeth at the intruder. 

Only...

It wasn't a stranger, it was Bruce! The scientist was momentarily frozen, but stepped out of the elevator before the doors slid closed again. They locked eyes and Tony hoped that there was recognition...

_Finally! Someone with some sense. Help me out here, Brucie-bear, YOU know me, right? It's me, it's Tony!_

But Bruce kept his distance. 

Steve came back, his phone still in his hand, and glanced at the trio curiously. Tony had quieted down and was dejected at the lack of familiarity, but he knew he was asking too much.

"Care to explain why there's a dog?" Bruce asked, quietly. He sounded so... _sad_. It was radiating off of him.

"Found him while I was out this morning," Steve replied, starting to unpack the bags Clint had brought back.

"Any news?"

"Nothing," Steve replied. "Nat is still in DC. SHIELD hasn't found anything yet, neither has Jarvis."

"None of my contacts have heard anything, either," Clint supplied, somber.

_What? ... What???_

"We should be out there looking for Tony," Bruce finally said. 

Oh.

"We're doing everything we can without being put on lockdown by SHIELD," Steve pointed out.

_I'm right here! Right in front of you!_

They ignored him, and Clint grabbed a plush squeaky toy and tossed it at him. Tony let it bounce off his side and sent a glare in his direction.

"We're no good to him if we're exhausted." 

Bruce nodded, but didn't look entirely convinced. Tony went back to his perch on the sofa and laid his head down, allowing the steady thrum of rain against the building lull him to sleep.

* * *

The next few days blurred into a week, occupied almost entirely by Tony contemplating the ways he could effectively communicate, and occasionally trying to act out the increasingly odd plans with no results. So far, the others were positively convinced that he was merely a loud, hyperactive, destructive dog and not their missing teammate.

And no, he _refused_ to sleep in any of their rooms. Company was nice, but in his current state all interactions felt patronising, and he did not need to be overseen all hours of the day and night. Steve gave in easily, Bruce was content not to try, but it took a good ten minutes the third night to get Clint off his back. Most of that time was spent being slowly dragged down the hallway by his collar, dragging his feet and stubbornly trying to use his own weight against the archer.

His victory was short lived though, because after Barton threw his hands in the air, utterly defeated, and left, Tony realized that he had no way to get to the penthouse. 

Even if he could somehow work the elevator, the entire suite was locked up tight with separate passcodes and ridiculously complicated locks that he felt were completely warranted given his history with people coming into his home unannounced. Besides the point, of course. He couldn't operate the elevators or any of the tower's locks, for that matter, so he especially couldn't get past his own.

So the sofa became his bed, and true to expectations, the others stopped trying to keep him off of it.

That was how his week had gone, and he hadn't even touched on the awful food they'd been feeding him yet. Any attempts to steal a bite of _real_ food were swiftly thwarted, and Steve was quick to lift him up and plop him down in front of the plastic dish on the other side of the kitchen. It was filled with kibble. Kibble!

The morning of the seven day mark, Tony laid on the cool tile beside the food and water dishes, trying to ignore his own breakfast while staring longingly at the plate of bacon on the counter.

"Think of a name yet?" Clint asked, and Tony absently wondered if he could somehow convince them to call him by his own name.

"Can't think of anything fitting," Steve replied. 

_Tony. It's Tony._

Steve shushed him. 

"And you don't get to choose," he added, before Clint could offer anything else, "The last thing the poor guy needs is a name like Monstertruck or Chewbacca."

"I'm wounded," the archer feigned being stabbed in the chest.

Bruce had been occupying himself with his own work, alternating between his laptop and tapping his fingers impatiently. Finally, he chimed in. "How about Bones?"

"That's no fun," came the vexed remark from Clint.

"Better than Barkolomew."

_That is correct._

"Even he likes it better. What do you say?" The scientist looked at Tony, actually _looked_ at him. 

_Yeah, whatever. If it shuts Barton up._

"Bones it is."

Tony sighed, heavily, and his whole body moved with it. Clint snuck a strip of bacon away and tore it into pieces before tossing them over the kibble. 

"Eat up, Bones, you're going to see the doctor today."

Damn you, Clint Barton.

He was too hungry to refuse, especially now that the savoury smell of bacon was wafting out of the bowl. He got to his feet, intimately aware of his joints popping with every movement, and started chowing down.

The mixture of flavours was beyond disgusting but it was oddly satisfying. 

While Tony was occupied, Steve slipped out of the room and returned a few minutes later, carrying a braided leash. It wasn't the same one as yesterday's, Tony noted mentally. But of course, he'd chewed through the last one. A braided leash would be harder to destroy.

The bowl was empty and the leash was clipped to his collar, and Tony was once again lead away. He didn't particularly feel like walking much today, because all of him _hurt_ so it was a good thing that Steve took them down to the garage. 

_The first good idea you've had all week, Rogers. Congratulations!_

Steve didn't pick up on the lilt of sarcasm in Tony's voice, because all he heard was barking.

"I think you'll like this," Steve said, "Something nice before your appointment."

_Don't remind me,_ Tony grumbled.

There was no use putting up a fight against Captain America. The man was more than capable of simply picking him up and carrying him wherever they needed to go. Even when he was human, it was a very real threat, despite the man never actually carrying out the threat. Being a dog was undignified enough, Tony didn't need Steve carting him around like that when he's _human_.

"Hop in."

There was a variety of vehicles in his garage, few of which he actually recognized. A handful belonged to him, but the rest were cycled in and out by the team. He jumped up into the passenger seat and spotted Steve's motorcycle parked a few spaces away, and his own personal favourite, the orange Lamborghini, on the opposite end of the garage.

After closing the door, Steve went around to the other side and started the car up, rolling the windows down a few inches to let out some stale air. The AC cycled on full blast, which felt nice, given that Tony was currently enveloped in an impenetrable fur coat designed for much harsher weather conditions.

Not being able to speak was unfortunate, because not only could he not initiate conversation, but that meant that Steve didn't try. Not for the whole trip to the other side of town, not once did the Captain actually speak to him as a conversational partner. He rarely uttered a word in the time it took them to get to the veterinary clinic. When he did, it was just as patronizing as it had been for the last several days.

The waiting room at the clinic was filled with terrified animals big and small, some held down firmly by leads and others cowering in plastic carriers. Upon entering the building, his senses were abruptly assaulted by the yowls of pain and fear, and the overwhelming scent of urine and permeating anxiety. Steve went to the front desk to sign the paperwork, and Tony huddled up next to his legs while a particularly oblivious dalmatian puppy climbed on anyone it could reach and stuck it's nose in his face.

Cute, Tony thought, but annoying. He imagined that it would be much easier to deal with as a human, where he could nudge the animal away with a dismissive hand instead of trying to veer away or intimidate it.

Mercifully, Steve dragged him away so they could go wait on an unoccupied bench, away from the overzealous puppy and that one smelly cat that was clearly repulsive enough that it's owner had covered it's carrier with a towel.

Thunder boomed over the city and for a split second the animals in the building fell silent, almost collectively. The puppy crawled behind it's owner's feet, beneath the bench, and several other animals added soft whines to the cocaphony of noise. Tony felt a hand come to rest on top of his head and realized he was nervously shifting on his feet. It was all too much for his ears to handle. 

"Mister Rogers and Bones?"

Tony looked up at the exam room door closest to the front desk and saw the vet tech standing there with a blank chart in her hands. Steve stood up and tugged on the leash, prompting Tony to his feet.

"That's us."

The tech gestured for him to follow into the exam room where Tony was made to sit on the floor once more while Steve occupied the empty chair in the corner.

"What's he in for today?" The tech question, holding her hand out to Tony passively. It reeked of wet dog and antiseptic, and he turned his head away.

_Seriously, people need to stop shoving their hands in my face!_

"I found him a few days ago. He was alone, hungry, didn't have a tag or collar. I wanted to make sure he was in good health, maybe see if someone is looking for him." Steve explained it all in one breath, looking down at Tony, looking into his _eyes_ before looking away sadly.

"I can see if he has a chip right now, then I'll take him back to get weighed. Has he been limping or expressing any pain?" The tech took a handheld device down from a cabinet over the countertop. She held it over the back of his neck, somewhere between his shoulderblades and moved it slowly over his back. The device let out a shrill beep and Tony flinched at the sound, glaring at her.

"No chip. We'll see if he has a tattoo when we get him back there." Tony saw the confusion in Steve's eyes, but he was too reserved to question it. The leash was passed on to the tech and Tony was led away, while Steve waited quietly in the exam room.

* * *

Tony decided, later that evening, that his trip to the vet wasn't as humiliating as he had been anticipating. 

He got to snap at someone for getting too handsy looking for that tattoo, so that was a bonus. The vaccinations weren't fun, but they were over quickly and the tech had given him something tasty as a reward for not biting her fingers off. Steve took him down the street to hang out at a park for a few hours, so he made good use of that time and ran. Steve chased him for a while, throwing a toy that Barton had picked out earlier in the week before finally giving up and just letting Tony burn off a lot of residual energy.

The ground was unpleasantly squishy and there were patches of dirt soft enough that when he stepped down, muddy water rose up and soaked his paws. He had to be careful not to get too dirty, lest he be given another bath. 

In hindsight, maybe running around for hours wasn't the best idea. He was so burnt-out that Steve had to carry him back to the car, and back up to the common floor once they reached the tower. He hobbled into the lounge and collapsed onto the floor, letting out a tired sigh while the coolness of the floor seeped through his fur.

The floor was where he wanted to be when they got back, so the floor was where he stayed. He moved spots once in a while, once the surface area under his body warmed up, and a couple of times to kick Clint when he got too close. And to glare at him when he started throwing the toys at him again.

"How is it you got him to run around the park all day when I can't even get him off the floor?" Oh, Barton. 

_Picking on you is especially fun._

"Didn't ask you, pup. Mind your business."

Tony growled at him and flopped down again. Clint stuck his tongue out, and Tony glared. But... there was that look again. Now Barton was doing it too! First Bruce, then Steve. Tony was almost glad that Natasha wasn't there. She'd gotten a brief glimpse at him when she and Steve were discussing the case over video chat, but Natasha had always been disinterested in dogs and didn't pay him any mind.

After dinner, once Tony had claimed his spot on the sofa, he was _finally_ left alone. 

The rain picked up again after dark, splattering on the windows and lulling him to sleep once more. He'd always liked the rain. Warm sunny days were great, but there was nothing more relaxing than a storm and steady showers. 

Some time after midnight, however, he woke suddenly and on edge. Hackles raised and ears pricked forward, he listened intently. He scanned the room for the source of the change in atmosphere, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no one in the room - he looked through the windows - and no one outside so what was going on...?

Moments after he'd woken up, noise exploded over his head and light flashed over the tower. The floor vibrated and the windows rattled, and Tony's ears flattened on his head, trying to block out the noise. All at once, it stopped, cutting out so suddenly and abruptly that he was left wondering if it had all been a vivid hallucination.

Instead of stopping to ponder the possibility, Tony lunged off the sofa and across the room, shouting for Jarvis to wake the others. He ran down the hallway to the elevator, cursing loudly when he couldn't use the buttons. Why wasn't his AI answering? Oh, right, right. He pawed at the crease in the elevator doors, angry that his tower was under attack and he was useless to defend it.

"Bones! Cool it, buddy." Tony's head snapped up and he reeled around, spotting Clint standing at the opposite end of the corridor at the other elevator. The one that went down to the team's private training floors. Evidently the archer had been unable to sleep.

Tony ran to the middle of the hallway, stopping only to berate Clint for ignoring the issue at hand. Behind him, the elevator finally opened up, and Steve stepped out in his pyjamas. "What's going on?"

"Jarvis disrupted my beauty rest to tell me the dog was going insane."

_Barton you dirty liar, you weren't sleeping_.

"My apologies," came a deep and familiar voice from within the elevator. Tony's mouth snapped shut and he turned to look just in time to see Thor, in all his glory, step out. "The bifrost must have frightened your companion."

Clint muttered and wandered into the lounge to sit down, and a little dumbstruck by the revelation, Tony followed. 

Thor continued, unfazed by the fact that there was suddenly a dog residing in the tower. "This animal is quite unusual," he said, "I don't think I've encountered one like it."

"You've never seen a dog before?" Clint raised a brow, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

"I am familiar with dogs, friend. This one possesses a... magical quality. Suffice to say."

That piqued Steve's interest. And Tony's. He was facing the god with rapt attention now.

"I didn't know you knew magic," the Captain said.

"I do. I've employed it a handful of times in battle. It's not my forte, though."

Clint sat up and looked at Steve. "You don't think..." He turned his focus down to the floor, where Tony was sitting. Listening.

Understanding dawned on Steve, and he looked down at Tony as well. "Thor, can you tell us if someone _else_ used magic on the dog?"

_Fucking FINALLY_

"That is indeed a possibility, Steven," Thor said, kneeling down in front of Tony and gripping his lower jaw in a warm hand. Tony tried to wriggle out of his grasp, always uncomfortable with his face being touched, but was held firmly in place.

There was a hint of a golden shimmer in Thor's eyes that the others didn't seem to notice, and Tony attributed it to whatever spellwork the god was using to try and identify the source of their suspicions. A sense of warmth and comfort overcame him, a pleasant change from the bundle of nerves he had been only minutes before, and he found himself relaxing more than he probably had in years.

"I recognize him," Thor said, "But whoever did this, they used powerful magic. I can't accurately identify who - "

"Could it be Tony?" Clint cut in. Thor's hand fell to his side and the magic ebbed away, and frustration replaced the relaxation.

_Of course it's be you daft idiot! That's what I've been trying to tell you_!

"Tony?!" 

"I believe you have your answer," Thor said, giving Tony an apologetic look. He stood up, towering over Tony and gave him some space.

"Jarvis, get Bruce. Tell him we found Tony."

" _Right away, Captain Rogers._ "

Tony was unceremoniously scooped up off the floor and enveloped in a hug, and he would swear now that he felt tears on his head where Steve might have started crying. He wouldn't bring it up later, though. He wasn't that petty. As undignified as his situation is.

Clint was cursing, dialling Natasha's number on his phone before violently shouting that YES, it is very urgent and totally worth waking her up for. 

"How do we fix this?" Tony was once again allowed to stand of his own volition, though Steve was standing over him protectively.

"I've seen spellwork like this before," Thor explained, "I will consult more experienced sorcerers, but I believe this curse must run it's course."

_Fuck no!_

"He's been missing for weeks, Thor," Clint said, phone gripped tightly in his hand at his side.

"And it could last longer, but my lack of skill will only make it worse."

Tony huffed and went back to the sofa, just about done with it all.

"Don't fret, my friend," Thor said, giving him a sympathetic look. "We'll have this resolved as soon as possible."

_Unless it has to 'run it's course', in which case, I might be completely fucked,_ Tony grumbled. He laid his head down over the edge of a cushion, covering a paw and heaving a tired sigh.

"Even so," Thor replied, looking directly at him now, "It will be resolved. Have faith. If not in that, then in me. Your friend and shieldbrother."

Tony's ear twitched, and then he realized that the god had replied directly to him, and not to someone else. He lifted his head, eyes narrowed.

_You can understand me?_

"Of course, Allspeak encompasses all spoken language."

Neat. If Tony could smile, he'd be grinning ear to ear.

_Tell Barton he's a moron._

"I will not repeat that.

"Wait," Clint cut in, waving a hand, "You actually _can_ understand him? Seriously?"

Thor nodded. 

_Can I sleep in my room now?_

"Of course, I'll take you to your quarters now," he turned to look at Steve and Clint, who looked lost, "And I will return to Asgard to try and find the root of our predicament, here."

_Stay tonight? Get some rest, buddy. Do gods even need sleep? If not, help yourself to my refrigerator, the stuff up there is probably almost done for anyway._

Thor chuckled at the rapid fire rambling, and turned on his heel to go to the elevator, followed by Tony, who bolted from the couch to join him.

As soon as Thor lifted his hand to press the button on the wall, the keypad chimed and the doors opened, revealing a very sleepy looking Bruce. His hair was mussed up and he looked positively wired, like the adrenaline would wear off any second and he fall asleep standing there.

"Thor? Jarvis said the guys found Tony, where is he?"

"Here," Thor motioned down to Tony. "He's been cursed."

Bruce was typically a lot less open to magic than Tony was. He often rebuked Tony's exciting plans to incorporate it into their mutual projects, but in this moment he was totally accepting. Relieved, maybe, more than scared or angry. Definitely more than angry, thank god.

"This whole time, he's been the _dog_? Jesus," he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Okay, I'm going back to bed. I can't process this right now."

He pressed the button for his floor and the doors shut. 

Tony lowered his ears, disappointed, but not really surprised. It was what, three in the morning? Bruce didn't function as well on sleep deprivation as Tony did. He'd likely wake up later and think it was all a dream or something.

When the elevator car returned to the common floor and the doors slid open once more, Tony bounded inside and allowed Thor to man the controls. 

The penthouse was quiet and dark, and looked as though it hadn't been touched since he had last been there. A few cleaning bots rumbled around the tiles, cleaning away dust that had settled in the weeks he'd been gone, beeping indignantly when they crossed paths with either himself or Thor and were forced to alter their courses.

Tony trotted to the bedroom while Thor took up Tony's offer for food, taking what little bit of leftovers remained in the fridge before retreating to the table to munch away.

The bedroom smelled mostly like someone had poured copious amounts of his aftershave and cologne into the bedsheets, and Tony made the mental note to wash the linens more frequently. He picked up on grease and a little bit of body odor too, and followed it to the hamper where at least a laundry load's worth of workshop clothes had been discarded.

Not like he could do anything about it now. As long as he slept on the side of the bed closest to the windows, he could mostly ignore the smell. Up until that moment he hadn't realized that skimping on showers in favor of finishing projects and equipment upgrades was much of a problem. He'd probably forget about it soon, though.

He hopped up onto the matress, instinctively circling on top of the mess of blankets and pillows before flopping down. He dozed for a little while, waking just barely when Thor poked his head in to inform him he was going to leave.

Tony muttered a goodbye before the excitement finally bled out of him and he just _slept_.

**Author's Note:**

> For now, this is being left as-is. It took me weeks to get around to writing the last part, and I'm not sure I can muster up a second part within a reasonable amount of time.


End file.
